


Hazel and Honey

by Ennead13x



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone's a Human AU, M/M, Other, Well mostly human, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennead13x/pseuds/Ennead13x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Prince Dean of Winchester was cursed to bear the head of a strange deer-like creature, he was told that no one would ever love him again. His brother immediately proves that wrong, when - instead of abandoning Dean to exile - Sam joins him on a quest to break the curse. As the months turn into years and one hunt becomes many, Sam watches his brother loose hope, until one tempestuous evening they seek shelter from a court in a distant land. At first their hosts are wary of the strange hunters, but soon offer a deal. They can stay the night, if one of them is willing to spend that night tending to their own invalid prince. When Sam volunteers, he finds that Prince Gabriel isn’t so much sick as cursed. Following the entranced man through the forest is probably ill-advised, but there’s no time for any other move. Before he knows it, Sam is swept into Gabriel’s nightrealm and he has to keep both himself and their brothers from being taken as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story based on the Scottish tale "Kate Crackernuts" with a little smidge of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" for flavour. It was written for the Sabriel Fairytale Challenge, but never posted because life and ill health got in the way of finishing the middle section. The first half and last third are complete however, and I decided to start posting the earlier chapters here, hoping that it will galvanize me into finishing the rest.
> 
> This first bit is really the set-up for the rest of the fic. I know everyone wants to get to the cheesy, romancey goodness, but I can't resist groundwork development, especially when it means Sam and Dean get to snark at eachother.
> 
> For an extra laugh, imagine the Winchesters with a Scotts Lowlands accent and the Engles with a German or Swiss one.
> 
> Please enjoy!

            Once upon a time, it had yet to become cliché to begin a tale on a dark and stormy night. It wasn't quite _that_ bad yet, but Sam of Winchester knew that with their luck it was only a matter of time. Technically it wasn't even the beginning, just another episode in his ongoing trial of a life.

            Currently trying his patience was his obstinate jerk of a brother, whose fault it was that they were out in open heathland with no shelter in the face of an oncoming storm. Sam knew he was being unfair. It was no more Dean's fault that he defended his pride in his abilities, than it was that he wore his face. While Sam did agree with the principle that _certain_ villagers should be very grateful for their services - a little hospitality for a lot of protection and labor might be nice - he wasn't happy that the tactic of, quote, "They can take it or leave it, and kiss my fuzzy butt on the way out," had left them, well, out. Out on the moors, being unfair - but also wet, windblown, and hungry. In the mood for arguing, he was not.

            "Dean, you are being ridiculous," Sam huffed. "Those villagers are idiots, yeah, but thanks to your impatience there's no way we can go back there without you being used as kindling."

            "Oh and a freaking castle in the middle of nowhere sounds like such a great idea? Nobles are even more superstitious than peasants, they just hide it better."

            "We have to pass it to be clear of those villages anyway," Sam said, trying to appeal to reason. "There's a bit of uninhabited forest a few miles to the east - across the castle's holdings. If we cut the arguing and get a move on now, we can be at the gates by supper." When reason failed, it was usually a good bet to appeal to Dean's stomach.

            His brother's eyes looked equal parts wary and intrigued. "What if they run me off too?" Dean asked.

            "Then we'll keep going and hope we hit the woods by nightfall," Sam said. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. The shelter of the trees was a long way off. "It would help if you weren't so belligerent. So help me, if it's your mouth that gets us in trouble again, and I have to bed down with you in the open _again_ , in a tempest no less...I may just strangle you where you lie. And eat your horse."

            Chevrolet, Dean's great black mount, took a step away and tossed her head. Sam imagined his brother would be a bit green about the gills under all his layers. Dean patted his beloved horse's neck protectively, and called back as she burst into motion, "In that case, what're you waiting for? Race you!"

            Sam would say something about rabbit holes and horses' legs, but he knew his father's horses never faltered. He kicked his own Charger into a gallop and grinned. The round white walls of that freaking castle were within sight, and he could almost smell the bread on the howling wind.

~~~

            When they came close to the gates of the castle, they slowed their horses and calmed their laughter, trying to seem presentable. Dean readjusted his wrappings, while Sam brought his full stature to bear. The brothers looked as regal as any princelings could while drenched in rain and tossed about by the wind. Sam only hoped whoever was inside would take pity on them, and also wouldn't look too closely until they had a chance to explain.

            They were in luck, it seemed. For all that the castle jutted imposingly from the plain, the only guard at the open postern gate was a man of middling age and stature, who quickly hid a folio of what appeared to be love poetry when he noted their approach. He seemed sympathetic as Sam told the short version of their tale. Sam thought Dean may have been pushing his request for cooperation a mite far by maintaining complete silence within the hooded folds of his plaid, but the gateman didn't seem to find this creepy at all. Indeed, he somehow managed to enfold the two larger men in his arms when they dismounted, clucking over them like a mother hen and promising to see what he could do. Sam was reminded of Laird Singer's hounds back in Winchester, who would sooner lick a thief to exhaustion and lead him to the treasury, than guard or bite.

            This assessment may have been challenged a little as the shorter man led them through the gate with their horses on leads, and they got their first glimpse of the sheer scale of the fortress. Dean let out a low whistle, and Sam concurred. He had thought it odd that such a large lowland castle would have so small and dry a moat. It wasn't until he was inside did he realize that the circular outer wall had been constructed inside the thing, and that the actual moat was so wide as to contain generous lists between the outer and bailey walls. Several hundred yards to the southeast was a wooden ramp leading up the sloped side of the moat to an opening in the next wall. This was situated directly in the center of what appeared to be a kind of training ground, though the storm had left it somewhat flooded and nearly deserted. Sam got the distinct feeling that they were being watched from the walls, though he could barely make out the arrow slits above them.

            As the gateman and his guests passed abandoned archery butts, two figures approached. Though water slicked off their matching tan oilskins in tiny rivers, neither the man nor woman seemed terribly concerned with the rain pouring down on their uncovered heads.

            "Hadrian, what have you brought us?" the woman asked brusquely.

            "Guests, Hester!" the excitable gateman proclaimed. "We have guests! The poor things were out on the heath in this weather."

            "And it might be better for them to stay there. This is not exactly the best of times to be entertaining guests." She was stone-faced and barely cast the bedraggled princes a glance. Her companion - in contrast - cocked his head curiously, his eyes catching Dean's in the shadow of his hood.

            Hadrian wrung his doughy hands. "I know it isn't, but we can spare a bit of shelter for them, can't we? They can...they can have my spot in the barracks! I'm fine with keeping in the gatehouse for the night. Just give me a scroll and some pillows and-"

            "No, no. Best of times, worst of times: we get it. We'll just...go find some bit of forest somewhere and, I don't know, drown or someth-" Dean whuffed as Sam promptly elbowed him in the chest with practiced aim. Sure the pendant he wore dug into Sam's elbow, but he knew from experience that the little god's horns would prick right into Dean's breastbone most satisfyingly.

            Before Sam could apologize on their behalf, the formerly silent man spoke in a surprisingly gravelly voice, "That seems unnecessary. Hadrian, your spot in the barracks is yours. Our guests can come with me."

            Hester wasn't pleased with this. "Wait," she said. "Before we take them in, I'd like to know what they were doing on our lands in the first place. Surely one of the villages would have been easier to reach?"

            Dean fidgeted uncomfortably, so Sam explained again. "We are on a quest, you might say, and - well - we noticed along the way that people seemed to need help that their knights and priests can't provide. We provide it, even if the locals don't always appreciate it."

            "You're Hunters." It wasn't a question. Sam didn't think this man had any ill feeling toward their current occupation, but Hester seemed unsatisfied.

            "If you're Hunters, why couldn't you stay in a village?" she asked. "They love your sort in taverns, if you have a tale to tell. Unless you're telling one now?"

            "It's because of me," Dean said, impatiently pulling down his plaid where it had hooded over his horns.

            For a moment the rain was the loudest thing in the lists.

            "Dean..." Sam tried in the sudden silence.

            "No, Sam," he said hotly. "They'd have to see eventually. I'd rather it be now so we can be on our way."

            "As I said, there's no need for that." They both looked at the man whose head had tilted to the side again. "I am Castiel. I am an Engel of the Chor." He nodded toward his blond companion. "This is Hester, my Sister."

            "Also of the Chor," she said wryly. She seemed less hostile and more speculative, which was a reversal of the usual reaction Sam dreaded when it came to Dean's...features. "So it is true that you deal with the unnatural. I assume _this_ is the reason for your quest." This wasn't a question, either. These people were blunt for being in a court. She continued, "Then we may have a job for you in addition to shelter."

            "Hester," Castiel warned.

            "Castiel," she said evenly. "I'm sure Michael and Raphael would agree."

            Castiel frowned and the gateman looked nervously between them, but before they could continue arguing, Dean clapped his hands loudly. "Great, a job! I like being useful. It makes up for the face." He gestured at his head broadly with one hand, tugging his plaid up around it again with the other.

            Sam recognized the bravado for what it was, and the belying twitch of a nervous ear. He knew that Dean was nearly as disbelieving that his boldness worked in their favour for once as Sam was. He stepped forward, hoping to ease the scrutiny his brother was under. "We'd be happy to see what we can do."

            "It's settled then," Hester said, turning and guiding the two of them up the ramp. "I'll speak to the others. Castiel, get our…guests settled in." Castiel's expression blanked out worryingly for a moment as he watched her walk away. It cleared, though, when he reached out a hand to steady Dean as he led a feisty Chevrolet through the bailey door.

            Hadrian smiled waveringly at them from the other side. "Yes, well, I'd best be getting back to my post..." He trailed off as he backed away towards the postern gate. "Good meeting you, glad I could help. Goodbye, Sam, Dean. Good luck."

            Somehow Sam wasn't reassured.

~~~

            Sam and Dean were led across a grassy courtyard in the bailey. On one side a small town's worth of servants' huts extended far past the curve of the concentric walls. On the other was a line of workshops backed against a short stone wall, which Sam assumed blocked them from sight of the grand parade to the main gate. Both were dark and quiet. When they reached to the other end, they were instructed to turn over their horses to the stable girl. She barely flinched at Dean's appearance, choosing instead to tut over the state of their horses. Dean tried to warn her to be careful with Chevrolet, but flustered when she managed both of the huge black destriers with ease. When they left, Sam took a second to smirk at his brother as he pocketed one of their precious pouches of salt from Charger's saddlebags.

            He saw that Castiel suppressed a small smile of his own as he brought them inside the keep proper. The ground floor of the great round tower comprised of a wide cross-vaulted hallway, the outer side and ceiling of which was painted with a bright white wash. The inner arches formed an arcade of pale limestone, though the closed walls seemed to be a younger stone, as though the castle had been built around an existing structure. The groins of each arch were painted, creating a pattern of gold crosses along the whole circumference of the corridor. Golden sconces hung from the outer wall, every torch lit so that even in the gloom of an autumn storm, the white halls of the castle seemed to shine.

            The whole interior of the arch directly across from the east-facing entrance was filled with an enormous window of stained glass in an abstract pattern of circles. The three men walked a quarter length of the ring - passing a few more, smaller windows - until they came to an open arch with a red door set several feet back. Opposite this was a wooden stair of the kind easily broken apart and lifted onto the next floor. When they reached the top, a servant holding a dripping tan coat greeted them.

            "Castiel! I was sent to tell you that our guests can...stay..." The servant trailed off uncertainly as he got a better look at Dean. Sam tensed when Dean lowered his chin and flicked his long ears back, but Castiel once again got into Sam's good books by placing a hand on both of their shoulders.

            "These are Dean and Sam of Winchester," Castiel said, smiling slightly at the servant. His hand remained on Dean's shoulder, as though he were oblivious to the green eye turned on him in surprise. "They are my guests. Dean, Sam, this is Inias, one of our most trusted staff."

            Inias seemed to re-inflate a little at that. "Of course!" Sam wasn't sure if he was boasting or apologizing. "Um, H-Hester said that they were to be set up near Gabriel's chambers?"

            Castiel's hand dropped sharply and all his intensity seemed to focus on the man in front of him. "Put them in mine."

            "Michael and Raphael were with her..."

            "Good, then I can talk to them myself," Castiel said darkly, turning down this floor's corridor. He called backwards, "Get them some food and some warmth, Inias. And then set them a space."

            "Cas-! Your coat-!" Inias called, holding out his arms, but Castiel had already swept out of sight. His shoulders drooped, which caused him to drag a bit of his wet bundle on the floor. Sam and Dean dripped in sympathy with him for a moment.

            Inias gathered himself quickly enough. "Well then," he said. "Would you like me to take your coats?"

~~~    

            Inias showed them into the Great Hall by walking the opposite way down the corridor as Castiel and turning down another that seemed to bisect the whole floor. Halfway down it, he pulled a handle on one of the large, heavy-looking red doors to the Great Hall, which instead opened a small inset door that Sam had to duck through.

            Sam immediately stepped back to the wall, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. It was for naught though, as the few people in the Hall undoubtedly noticed him. Sam always found it easier to blend into a crowd, even when he stood a head above the rest. As it was, the handful of castlefolk in the room had stopped to stare not at him, but at his brother.

            Sam knew the two of them cut a distinct and not-altogether pleasant picture in the eyes of the generally superstitious populace. What with his gigantic stature and Dean's deer-like head and neck (not to mention the horns)...people weren't right to run them out of towns, but they couldn't expect a warm welcome. Add to that the bright, but provincial clothes of their homeland, and the general lack of shoes, and well, a castle wouldn't have been his first choice for shelter.

            But damnit, they couldn't give up. People were important. People told tales, they had books and knowledge, and might know a guy who knows a guy who once stepped in a fairy ring. Sam needed that information, because _Dean_ needed that information. Every day, every tale, every step brought them that much closer to a cure for Dean. (There was no cure for himself, Sam often joked when Dean was really down. Their family was just freakishly tall.) He had to believe that.

            People could surprise you, and right then that's exactly what the Engels did.

            After a moment's pause, everyone went back to what they were doing. Sam could tell that the two on the dais were still watching them, but they were being discrete about it, which was more than he could say for the last several places they had stayed.

            Inias led them to the benches closest to the hearth. Sam was grateful for the thought, because he had shed his soaked ionar and stood only in his wet yellow leine and trews. Dean had refused to part with his plaid, and was busy spreading out the muted purple fabric all along the bench at his right to dry in the heat of the fire, studiously ignoring whatever looks may or may not have been thrown his way.

            As Sam sat down, Inias poured two cups of ale. "I need to prepare your chamber. I'll leave your coat there when I'm done, Sam. I'll have someone bring up some stew. Oh..." Inias paused awkwardly.

            "Um," he hesitated again.

            "Whatever it is, you can tell us, Inias," Sam reassured, half picking at the bread laid out on the table.

            "Well, uh, the stew is venison today."

            Dean choked a little on his ale.

            "I can tell Samandriel to bring something different!" He exclaimed. The servant had the same dark hair and hint of stubble that Castiel had, but his paler skin made it easy to see the peek of an embarrassed flush.

            Sam pat his brother's back as his cough turned into a wheezy laugh. "No, kid, I'm good. I may have the face of a deer, but under that I'm all man."

            Sam may have thumped him a little, while he turned to Inias with a grin. "Two for us please."

            Inias looked back and forth between them with a small, bemused smile on his long face. "I'll send Samandriel up with three. He hasn't been eating well and could probably use the company."

            The servant's back was barely to them when Dean leaned over to Sam and said, "Thoughts? People don't usually like me unless they need us for something. Lady Killjoy out there said she had a job for us. What do you bet it ain't pleasant?"

            Sam shrugged and finished his bread. "I don't know any more than you, Dean. She certainly perked up when we confirmed our involvement with the supernatural. Engelheim is famous for its strongholds and Great Court, which is said to be built around an ancient amphitheater. Lots of executions and mock battles over untold centuries - maybe they have ghosts."

            "Or pissed off pagans," Dean nodded. "The old gods can be sons of bitches."

            "Whatever it is, you already agreed for us." Sam smirked over his cup. "If they turn out to be fairies, _you_ can deal with them. I mean, you're more familiar with the Seelie Court and all."

            "Shut up," Dean said, ripping a bit savagely at his hunk of bread and warming a little beneath his tawny fur.

            Sam did. He took another look around the room. It seemed the white, gold, and red theme extended here as well. Even the carved stone of the fireplace was the same airy white as the hallways. The wood of the trunks, tables, and benches had a warm golden finish. The head table was covered with a large red cloth, which matched the geometric tapestries that covered the walls. Aside from the red doors and gold painted crossbeams, the only other ornamentation was in the ironwork of the windows on the rounded wall behind the dais. Combined with the distinctly vestment-like robes of the people, Sam was reminded of a country church.

            He was plucked from his musings by the arrival of two figures carrying four bowls of the promised venison stew between them. One was Castiel who was now dry in a heavily embroidered gold tunic over a blue-edged robe. The other was a young man who looked like he could barely shave yet. This must be Samandriel, Sam thought. It was no wonder that Inias had none-too-subtly asked them to make sure the boy ate. He looked terrible, as though he hadn't slept in days.

            "Our Brothers have requested you join us on the dais," Castiel said without preamble.

            Sam looked up. Sure enough, three more figures were seated at the raised table. Hester was there. With her was a solemn-faced man who also sported black hair, and a dark-skinned woman whose keen eyes were already on them.

            "Is that all they want?" Sam wondered. He stood and took a bowl from Samandriel anyway, not wanting to seem rude or uncooperative.

            "They have another request," Castiel's lips thinned. "You can refuse."

            "We'll see," said Dean, standing and deftly pinning the corners of his plaid back at his left shoulder. "Lead on."

            As they approached the table, the older man who had been there when they entered greeted them. "Sam, Dean, glad of you to join us! Sit, sit," he said jovially. Less pleasantly he added, "You too, Samandriel. We may have need of you."

            Samandriel didn't seem particularly perturbed by the tone as he took a seat to Sam's right and tiredly slurped at his stew. Castiel put himself to Dean's left as though to buffer them from the onslaught of false cheer. It did nothing to stop the calculating gazes fixed on the Winchesters as each of the Engel nobles were introduced, and the table fell silent. For a while they picked at their meals, bearing the scrutiny through long practice.

            Finally, Michael spoke, "Hester tells us you Hunters volunteered your services in exchange for our hospitality."

            Sam decided semantics were definitely important in this case. "She said you might have a job for us along with shelter."

            "Which they don't have to do," Castiel said adamantly.

            "No," Naomi, who apparently only appeared matronly and warm, said. "But they don't have to stay either."

            Zachariah tutted. "Now is not the time to be entertaining guests without purpose."

            Dean was bristling at his side. "Maybe if you cut all the vague bullshit and tell us what it is, we can yea or nay this and save everyone the headache."

            Michael smiled a bit, maddeningly, but it was Raphael who answered. "Our Brother, Gabriel, is ill," she said in a deep, implacable tone. "There is no cure known to any physician. Many of our vassals have gone to other holdings for their safety, so forgive us if the meager few who remain do not want to be burdened unnecessarily."

            Dean backed down a little at her explanation, but Sam was curious. What did they need a Hunter's help with?

            "You fear it may be magic?" He asked softly. Bobby had taught him a little medicine with the rest. The least he could do was make sure. "How long has he been sick? What are his symptoms?"

            "Six days. This will be the seventh -"

            "I'm sorry, but six days?" Dean broke in. "That's not even time enough to send for a physician."

            "I _am_ the physician," Raphael glowered. Sam was pretty sure his brother squeaked a little. "This is not natural," she continued. "Gabriel only sleeps and breathes. He does not eat, he does not drink; he does not need bathing; he does not toss or turn as in slumber or fever."

            Her frustration was palpable. Sam held out his hands in a placating manner. "You're right. This sounds like our kind of thing. I'm assuming any medicines you've tried haven't woken him up. But have they had any kind of effect?"

            "No," she answered.

            "Nothing? No movement? Not just from your brother, but from objects around him. Any strange lights?"

            "No..." Was the slower reply.

            Dean jumped in. "Any odd smells? Something rotten or too sweet? Did Gabriel go anywhere, do anything, get something strange as a gift-?"

            "Why?" Michael looked confused at the barrage of questions.

            "We're trying to narrow down the possibilities," Sam explained. "Certain demons and ghosts have a signature scent. Or maybe your brother ran into a witch out of your territory, or touched a cursed object. Right now, it's kind of an open field."

            Raphael looked at Samandriel and the boy was prompted to answer as well. "Nothing I've seen when you're gone, Sister. He just...lays there. Nothing moves, no lights or smells. He won't even stir when I bring him his favourites..."

            Sam could sense a 'but' coming. "But...?"

            Samandriel shrugged. "But I noticed that his shoes are worn out?"

            Sam shared a glance with Dean.

            "We should have known this before, Samandriel," Naomi chided.

            "I didn't think anything of it!" The boy exclaimed. "I thought his dog got to them, or it had happened before he got sick! He can't be using them now; I stand outside those doors _every_ night, and no one goes in or out."

            "And the ones who stay in the rooms at night?" Sam wondered.

            "The night watchers report nothing," Hester said shortly.

            The table fell into a strange, tense quiet. Sam was surprised Castiel's cup didn't break with the force of his white-knuckled grip.

            "There you have it," Michael finally broke the silence, his tone subdued. "Will you help us?"

            Dean looked to Sam with a furrowed brow, and Sam mirrored it.

            "Yes," they said.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more set-up, and Gabe and Sam finally meet. Don't think I'll have the third part tomorrow, but maybe Saturday.

            After the strange supper scene, it was almost a relief to once again be shepherded through the halls by a lone Castiel. He was quiet and his face was incredibly serious, but Sam felt that it was the man's natural state. It was less threatening than the scrutiny of the other Engels - though Sam thought he may have been having the easier time of it. Castiel's eyes had barely left Dean in the entire short while they'd known him. Sam was more amused than worried. After all, they'd faced plenty of hatred and fear in their travels, and this was not it.

            It was still awkward as they silently swept up another two flights of stairs and into what appeared to be a maze of apartments. Inias stood outside one door, and nodded as they passed.

            "Wasn't he supposed to ready our room?" Sam asked when they stopped at a room several doors down from the servant.

            "He has. Those were Gabriel's apartments," Castiel said, pushing open the door.

            Inside was a practical, but well-appointed room. It was clearly a sitting area or a personal study that had quickly been converted to accommodate guests. A large hurly bed made up with blue linens had displaced a comfortable-looking chair, which now sat close to its twin by a small, neat writing desk. A shelf of unlabeled books or journals hung above it on the wooden partition wall.

            "Cozy," Dean said.

            "I find them pleasing," Castiel said, taking a seat at the desk.

Sam paused in arranging their few things. "I wouldn't want to put you out."

            "You won't be," Castiel assured. "My bed is through there. Mine are the closest in-use rooms to Gabriel's. I thought you might want to be nearby."

            Sam mentally counted the number of doors they had passed since seeing Inias. He wondered what the other rooms could be used for – certainly not servants’ quarters.

            Castiel asked them to make themselves comfortable, but made no move to leave the room. Sam and Dean shared a look. It was obvious he had been tasked to watch them. Watch he did, while they made an abortive effort to settle. It never failed: the bad things had a penchant for night, but luck would have it that every time they decided against rest, something would attack in the daylight, however bright or gloomy.

            Their host, as he was, only left them when Inias came to the door. Castiel frowned as he was beckoned outside. Sam and Dean immediately and shamelessly eavesdropped.

"I'm sorry," the servant was saying. "She's just doing what she thinks is right."

"It's not. They don't know what they agreed to." The man's voice was pure gravel.

"None of us know what we're in for, Cas. You could have been next."

"I've made my peace with that."

"Well, Hester hasn't. She knows Rachel would gut her for even thinking it. And who knows? They might even find something."

Castiel ground out something neutral at Inias, but it was too low to hear, even if it had been important.

"Okay, I don't like this," Sam muttered

"Now you say that," Dean huffed. "'Ohh, I'm Princess Samantha and I don't want to sleep in the woods with your smelly horns again. I'd rather get sacrificed in a castle built on pagan ruins, because at least that's cool.'"

"Oh shut up," Sam said, bumping shoulders with him. "You love a good case, don't deny it."

"I'd love to know what's going on even more."

"That can be arranged," Raphael said from the open doorway. Both princes jumped at her sudden appearance. Inias, Castiel, and Naomi stood behind her. Sam cleared his throat and quickly joined them, Dean not far behind.

The group walked in silence to the sick man's room. Samandriel greeted them at the door, looking slightly perked up from the evening meal. The rooms were set up in a similar manner to Castiel's; but where he seemed to prefer blues and whites, Gabriel's taste involved a lot of reds and greens. There was a soft pallet made up in the forechamber, where Samandriel had obviously been staying. The open partition door had a sturdy bolt attached to it that Sam didn't remember seeing in Castiel's quarters.

After examining Gabriel - who was indeed neither dead (nor undead) nor sleeping in any conventional sense of the word - Sam asked the kitchen-boy-cum-guard to show him what he had been talking about at dinner. Inside the wardrobe, all alined in a neat row, were several pairs of mostly mangled shoes. Soft slippers and tough leather boots alike were worn through, but nothing in the rest of the wardrobe or the room seemed touched. Naomi tsked at the sight and began to upbraid the boy again for not saying anything, but Samandriel insisted that he had only _just_ noticed when he stopped Gabriel's dog from playing with a shoe earlier that day.

"I went to put it back, and when I opened it they were all like this," he said.

"Have you seen anything like this before?" Naomi turned to Sam and Dean.

"Once or twice," Dean said. "This king had a bunch of girls, and every morning one of their ladies reported that the princesses' shoes were worn out. He put them in a secure room, and still the shoes were destroyed. No one who stayed with them could - or would - explain what was going on."

"Well," Sam hedged. "The story was that each girl went through three pairs a night, but honestly they were just a bit scuffed."

"What really happened?" Castiel asked, intrigued.

"They were sneaking out every night to meet the sons of another lord, and they had chosen to walk there because that many horses missing would raise an alarm. The dad was just overprotective and blew everything out of proportion. We talked him into maybe cutting his girls a little slack and inviting suitors over where he could intimidate them in person instead."

"How mundane," Raphael sniffed.

"Sometimes it's that simple." Sam shrugged.

"You better hope this is something like that," Dean said, flicking his ears in annoyance. "The other shoe story isn't as _nice_ : There were these pretty red shoes that no one could resist wearing, and whoever wore them was compelled to dance every step. Three guesses how the shoes stayed such a bright red, and the first two don't count."

The Engels winced as one. Castiel lifted one particularly beat up brogue and examined it every which way. The sole flopped forlornly from the toe as he moved.

"You’re sure there's no way he could have slipped past you?" Sam asked.

"No," Samandriel said. "The only way out of this room is by that door or the window."

They examined the window. The east-facing window was set deep into the wall with a little bench built in beneath it. It was large enough to easily climb through...if you didn't mind splattering on the stone below.

"Despite this one instance, I trust Samandriel on this," Naomi said. "We had already known it was something unnatural. Now, what to do about it?"

"Someone needs to watch your Brother from closer than the next room, for one," Dean said.

"Indeed." Raphael leveled him with a stare. "Why did we _not_ think of that?"

Dean's lip curled a little, showing blunt white teeth. Sam wondered if he realized that didn't look nearly as threatening on a face without even a human’s  barest hint of fangs. He still had to step in to keep him from tossing his horns - a move that came across much worse.

He said, "One of us. We should be here when whatever is happening starts."

"I could-" Castiel started, but Naomi cut him off.

"Please, Castiel. None of us have experience here. One of the hunters should be the one to keep watch. They do know what to look for."

Castiel frowned, eyes darting over Sam and Dean, but he deferred to her suggestion.

"Just one?" Dean asked, frowning at Sam.

"Of course. We cannot have two of you here with our infirm brother," Raphael said, fussing with the bedclothes and warming them with a copper bed pan.

"Not that we don't trust, you." Naomi tried softening her Sister's blunt manner, and Sam felt for her for a moment. "Besides, you came here to rest, did you not? There's no sense in the both of you being up on our account."

"...Give us a moment," Sam said, pulling his brother to the corner of the room by one antler. The Engels watched with morbid curiosity as their guests argued animatedly for a few minutes. The conversation was partly in words and partly in gestures. Soon there was a long staring match that ended in a series of complicated hand movements. The deer-headed man let out a muffled curse, and stalked back to them behind his smirking brother.

"I'll do it," Sam said.

"Wonderful," Naomi said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "In that case we should get you settled in before full dark."

~~~

Dean was none too pleased to be locking his brother alone in the room, but the Engels insisted. There was nothing for it but to follow Castiel back to his apartments. The dark haired man was surly, and he had a tendency to stand very close to people. He seemed to be in a bit of a mood, as though he had something to say. Dean didn't like people who had something to say; it was usually about him and always unpleasant. He'd wait until he had the man in private before he brought it up though. They had his brother, after all.

Apparently, Castiel had the same idea.

Dean had barely gotten through the door before the man turned on him. He was a touch smaller than Dean, but his strength was phenomenal. Dean had come up against any number of warriors and beasties since he and Sam had begun hunting, but walking into this man was like hitting a wall. Being backed into the closed door wasn't much better.

"I need you to listen to me," Castiel said urgently.

"Listen? I know what you're gonna say already! _You're_ the one who wanted us in your place. I was perfectly fine out in the barracks. If you got a problem now-"

"What." Castiel looked perplexed. Dean huffed in confusion, because this guy was intense, sure, but he didn't actually look angry at his very existence. Castiel shook his head. "No, I don't want you out. I want to be in."

"Um," Dean replied intelligently. Not that he wasn't flattered -

"Your brother's in danger."

The current of Dean's thoughts immediately shifted. "What do you mean, danger?"

"No one has stayed the night with Gabriel and returned."

Dean surged forward, racing back down the hall inelegantly and almost ramming into Samandriel at his post before Castiel caught up with him, slamming him into the wall. Castiel grabbed his muzzle and forced his chin down. Dean went cross-eyed trying to look forward into his narrow blue eyes.

"Wait! We need to be clear. _I_ will take your brother's place, and you will leave before dawn, when they return to open the doors. But until then we need to appear calm." His eyes bored into Dean's - ignoring Samandriel's flailing - until he was sure he wouldn't make any sudden movements. Then he let go and stepped back half a step.

Dean jerked his head up, twitching his nose until he felt his short whiskers fall back into place. "Yeah, and how are we gonna do that?"

"We ask. They were right, there's no other way in or out than that door. But Samandriel feels the same as I do. This is _our_ problem, and we should not be subjecting our guests to our troubles."

"Mighty nice of you to tell me now!" Dean glared.

"It's not that easy, Castiel," Samandriel interrupted, looking small as a mouse when they turned their heads simultaneously to him. "Raphael took my keys. I think she knew we'd try something like this."

Castiel just about growled, and Dean’s ears from pricked out unconsciously at the sound.

"Hey," he said, unable to resist comforting these people, even though he was freaking out a little himself. "She just wants results. Sammy is the best there is at what he does." He wasn't sure if he was reassuring them or himself.

The two Engel men just looked at him. "And...what does he do?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Get results! It, uh, may take him a while but he's never left a hunt unfinished. Besides, maybe having someone outside the family working on this will be the key."

Samandriel considered this. "And if the same thing happens?"

"Well. Then you better hold on to your butts, because if my Sam gets disappeared, I'm going in after him. And when - not if - _when_ we get back I will personally kick each and every one of them."

Castiel smiled at him then, a curious, close-lipped thing. "If your brother has half your spirit, then we have no cause for concern."

"Good," Dean bit out.

"Good," Castiel agreed.

They stared eachother down.

"Uh," Samandriel said. "Not that this isn't cozy but. Could you. You might be more comfortable in your own rooms?"

"Yes. We'll wait there. I doubt we'll get much sleep, Dean, but we'll be back first thing in the morning for your brother."

They left Samandriel to his coughing fit.

~~~

After they locked him in, Sam got to work looking around the room for anything they might have missed. Or excluded. There wasn't much that hadn't been gone over. It was a little more ornate than what he'd seen of Castiel's rooms, but that could be attributed to taste. A lot of trinkets and books, but nothing out-of-place for a wealthy lord who was fond of travel. Even his dog was bred in a different land. The tapestries didn't hide any secret doors, nor were the hunting scenes that chased across them in any way unusual. The fireplace was just that, with no stair built into the back.

He thought about laying down salt, but the little sachet he had wouldn't begin to be enough to encircle the occupant, let alone the enormous bed. Laying it at only the window seemed like an exercise in futility. He hovered for a bit over Gabriel, until the little terrier whined at him to settle. A high-backed chair had been pulled next to the bed, and Sam sank into it. It had probably been brought over by Raphael as she tended her Brother. Though the Engels were clearly frightened by what was happening, they obviously took good care of him. The rich, inviting room was well-aired and smelled slightly of medicinal herbs. Even though the cold rain pounded outside, it was warm and dry here.

Sam sighed, pressing himself into the cushions. It had been a long day, but at least the wait would be comfortable.

~~~

Sam was just wondering how he'd gotten into a staring contest with a dog at midnight while Dean was probably sleeping soundly just down the hall, when something finally happened. His charge simply sat up, ignoring Sam and the canine that rolled off his chest with a yip.

"Laird –ahem- Lord Gabriel?" Sam asked, but received no answer.

Gabriel pushed the bedclothes away and stood, giving Sam his first real look at the man aside from his sleeping face. He wasn't tall - though everyone was short compared to Sam. He was a little bowlegged - but nowhere near as much as Dean was - and he was softer around the middle than a warrior or a worker would typically be. It gave him a pleasing shape - if you went for that sort of thing - and Sam thought that his golden hair and heart-shaped face might serve a prince well.

If it weren't for the lack of expression, or the whited-out eyes that is.

Sam had seen this before, or something like it. There were a fair few people who walked in their sleep, performing tasks or holding conversations as though they were waking, and remembering none of it. Sometimes it was simply the work of a dream, and sometimes a devil or spirit walked with them. He had never seen these unseeing white eyes on a person, though he had heard tell of it. This was no dream.

Gabriel didn't respond to gentle distractions, and Sam didn't want to risk what might happen if he directly startled the entranced man. Spirits were not often kind. He also wanted to see what he would do. Would Gabriel walk his chamber a thousand times? Would he disappear into thin air? Would he grow wings and fly out the window?

It appeared that the first order of business for men in trances was to dress themselves. Gabriel had reached his wardrobe, and pulled on bright hose with a strange fluid grace. He tucked his embroidered sleep-shirt into the waist, and covered it with a doublet and jerkin that was much more fashionable than the vestment-like robes and tunics Sam had seen on the other Engels. It didn't alarm him, as he'd already seen the variety Gabriel kept when Samandriel had shown them the worn out shoes. Gabriel slipped on a pair of only mildly scuffed golden-tan shoes that had cut-outs to match his jerkin, and turned to the door.

Sam hastened to follow him, and was surprised to see the door open without a hitch. He knew he had been locked in with Gabriel. He had heard Raphael demand the key. However, the door to the solar opened smoothly, and there was no trace of Samandriel at all. When they reached the corridor Sam looked back, but the partition door was closed. Feeling uneasy, Sam nevertheless stayed with the obviously enspelled Engel. With his long legs, it wasn't hard to keep up, even though Gabriel walked the circular hallways at a direct, unfaltering pace.

Down the great towering keep they went, until at last they passed the great window of the arcade entrance. The rain must have let up when Sam was not paying attention. Only fog and damp remained. Sam kept close enough behind Gabriel to touch him in the misty darkness, until they came to the stable, where Ellie must have left a lantern burning. Blind-eyed, Gabriel bridled a sleek silver horse and leapt onto its bare back, riding out. Sam silently blessed his trews, which would make an unanticipated ride bearable, and scrambled onto Charger. He'd had just enough time to put a bridle on him, before he needed to follow Gabriel into the darkness or lose him.

He caught up with the Engel on the parade. The portcullis, just like the bedchamber door, was mysteriously open as they passed, but when Sam looked back, he could just make out the grille in the castle wall. He turned, swallowing, and focused on keeping pace with Gabriel. He didn't want to lose him in the dark of night.

The ride across the heath was swift and curiously smooth. Soon, the two riders were flying through the forest east of Engelheim. At first the way was clear, but soon the trees grouped closer and closer together, as though the forest itself were funneling them. The branches grew so close together that Sam and his horse knocked into a few. Something dropped on his head, and Sam felt his heart leap in his chest before he realized whatever it was wasn't moving. Plucking one of the things from his lap, he saw that it was a good-sized conker.

Sam laughed to himself. They were passing through a thicket of hazels, which he and Dean loved. It was early autumn, just about the time for the nuts to be ripe. He gathered the others that had landed on him, dried them off on his leine, and slipped them into his wide sleeves. No sense in letting good food go to waste. They would also serve to prove where Gabriel had gone.

Not long after that, the trees abruptly ended and they slowed. They had come to a clearing that was lit by a tiny sliver of moon through the clouds. The mist lay low to the ground, reflecting the meager moonlight, and out of the mist rose a great stone gate. It was rough-hewn of three enormous stones and sat alone inside the circular clearing, unattached to any wall or building.

For the first time, Sam heard Gabriel speak, his voice resonating strangely in the open space. "Open, open, let in your Brother with his horse."

A wavering blue light spread like water between the stones and Gabriel walked forward. Mind racing, Sam called out, "And his prince and steed beside him."

Before he could change his mind, he took a deep breath and plunged in.

Immediately his senses were overwhelmed with light and sound. Music played all around him, and a multitude of people flowed past. A bonfire roared, and he'd lost any idea where the gate was. He was still in the forest - or, well, _a_ forest. The majority of the trees were more massive than anything that grew on the edge of cultivation, with trunks wider than even Sam's impressive armspan. Everything that wasn't lit by the bonfire reflected a silvery light like moonlight, despite the dense canopy far above them. It looked like nothing so much as a great pillared hall hewn out of wilderness.

At least a hundred people crowded the area, singing, dancing, feasting, and...Sam quickly averted is eyes. Yes, that corner over there was one to avoid. A veritable swarm descended on Gabriel, whose now clear eyes were apprehensive. He seemed to be politely refusing a few offers. His horse spun in a nervous circle, which served to make some of the more daring hands slip off of the small man's thighs. Gabriel's eyes caught Sam's for a split second, before he was pulled from his horse to stumble laughingly into a rowdy ring dance. Sam was struck with the way they shone in the firelight, flashing gold helplessly across the horde.

Sam slipped off of Charger's back, trying to follow him, but he'd already been lost to sight. He turned, fearing a crush of people, but they paid him no mind. He led his horse to one of the much smaller trees that ringed the dance hall, and tied him loosely, figuring that as long as he went unmolested, he'd slip along the outskirts of the ball (for that's what it was - a faerie ball. There was no chance that this many people of such strength and varied size were all humans) to try and find his charge.

He wandered for hours. Finding one head of golden hair among many, some that shone with their own distracting light sources, was not an easy task. Sometimes Sam caught a glimpse of Gabriel in the throng, dancing and laughing; kissing two ladies dressed in nothing but leaves; being dragged from a couch to join another round of song. The hunter snorted to himself. He could see why this man might sleep all day, if this was his nightlife.

Eventually Sam wandered from the edges of the ring. He was so tired and hungry. He’d honestly only had that stew of the Engels’ all day, and the smells coming from the feast table were tantalizing. There lay all manner of sweets, roasted meats, fruits and berries, little pies and cakes, and strange grains with warm spices. Surely a little couldn’t hurt?

Out of nowhere, a hand slapped his own. Sam recoiled, rattled. Before he had known it, he was reaching across the table. That surely wasn’t a good sign.

He turned to face his savior and came...chin-to-forehead with none other than Gabriel himself. The man was swaying slightly in place, smirking up at him with an assessing gaze.

"You don't want to do that."

"I... _didn't_ actually." Sam frowned as Gabriel took his hand and tugged him away. "One minute I was with my horse, and the next..."

"That's how they get you," the smaller man said, spinning in close to him. "It's how they got Anna, anyway." Gabriel nodded to one of the smaller trees dotting the open space. "And Balthazar, too - though that may have been the women, not the wine."

"Anna, Balthazar are...your Brothers?" Sam asked the man circling him. Gabriel nodded. See, Dean, it did pay to actually pay attention to politics now and again.

"The same," he said. "If you could maybe move with me a little? Not that you don't make a very attractive maypole..."

Sam obliged, glad to move away from the feast and all its temptation. "So...come here often?"

That little mouth twisted. "Every night for - it's all a blur. If someone followed me every night that's five…Well, six, including you. Probably a little longer before they noticed. I assume my Brothers sent you?"

Six or more nights of this, Sam thought as they danced. Seven, if Raphael's count was correct. Though it seemed she had neglected to mention a few things. No wonder he never woke: he'd seen how Gabriel hadn't had a moment's rest since they got here. He held the man a little closer and deliberately slowed their pace as they talked.

"They did. Though clearly they left out a few things."

"Doesn't surprise me," Gabriel sighed, changing his steps to a kind of slow waltz. Sam clumsily followed him, wincing at the thought of those heels digging into his bare feet. "Bet they didn't say a thing about the others."

"No," Sam agreed, finally evening out his pace. "What did happen?"

"All I know is, they came, they screwed up, they became part of the scenery." Gabriel shrugged, laughing it off, but Sam could see that his eyes were tight with worry.

"And now they're all...trees?"

"Fairies! I know about as much as you do."

"I'm a Hunter," Sam whispered, leaning close to breathe it into his ear. For...secrecy, yes.

"And yet, you're asking me." This was accompanied by wide eyes and spread arms as the other man stepped back a fraction. Sam could feel himself giving what Dean would call a 'bitch-face', but Gabriel just grinned up at him with an amused, toothless smile.

They must have been standing still like that for too long, because two of the partiers appeared to drag Gabriel off. Sam wanted to protest, but a vigorous shake of a golden head and a significant look to the nearest of the small trees was enough to get the point across. Don't fight, either.

Sam had no idea how much time passed after that. He waited, he watched. He didn't eat, though his stomach growled. He lost sight of Gabriel after a while. The Engel had disappeared into that tangle of limbs in the corner at one point, but Sam was sure he'd seen him after that. It was hard to focus on any one thing in the large cavernous space. There was too much noise, and the flickering light did nothing to aid his tired eyes.

It had been hours at least, since they had come to that gate in the woods. It felt like days. Sam wasn't sure if he wouldn't fall dead asleep himself when they returned.

That was actually a real worry, he realized. But then, none of the fae paid him any mind when he wasn't with Gabriel. Evidently, wasn't their target. He could only bring (or follow) Gabriel back to the castle of Chor and hope that he himself wasn't part of whatever spell this was.

Loud laughter broke into his thoughts. A group of tiny fae were calling and laughing uproariously as they hauled the Engel lord past Sam. They slung the man over his silver horse, and the gate suddenly appeared as though it had always been there. Sam was quick to mount his own horse, which was thankfully still tied nearby. He followed Gabriel through the gate, noting that they didn't need to say anything to exit. At least, he hoped, because the people behind them were too busy partying, and Gabriel was already asleep.

Out in the woods again, Sam pulled alongside and tiredly shook the man. Definitely asleep. Hopefully he'd make it home in that position, because Sam's rapidly dwindling energy wasn't enough to upright him.


End file.
